


The Boy in the Next Room

by maxxxdegree



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-01-16 19:54:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12349563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxxxdegree/pseuds/maxxxdegree
Summary: A coming-of-age story about two very different boys who have to overcome their own personal struggles in order to figure out who they are and what they can be to each other.





	1. Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> After reading a shit-ton of awesome awesome fics from you people, I figured it was time to write my own and actually contribute something to this fandom! English is my second language so I apologize for whatever I need to apologize for. HAHAHA! All errors are mine but I love them anyway!

_Head down, eyes on the ground, do not look up. Head down, eyes on the ground, do not look up. Head down..._ Sherlock repeated his daily mantra to himself as he wove in and out of bodies in their well-lit hallway. His arms, hugging his books towards his skinny chest, were jostled several times by different people, nobody bothering to apologize. Feeling himself nearing his destination, his eyes darted upwards for a millisecond to confirm that he was there - _relief, oh sweet blessed relief_ \- when he heard it.  
  
"Hey, our boy's here!"  
  
Sherlock didn't have to look up to see who it was. It didn't matter, anyway. They were all the same. He might as well paint a bull's eye on the back of his head (or all over his body, for that matter) the way their attention never failed to hone in on him. It was just a matter of time. He could be walking downstairs from his room, or toweling off in the bathroom, or eating breakfast, lunch, dinner. It always, always happens. One of them gets bored with whatever mundane teenage activity they were currently undertaking and it begins.  
  
He wanted to get used to it. He did. It just seemed like every single day they found new ways to make this place miser- no, that wasn't the word. Unlivable. That was it.  
  
"Hey, freak!" A hand pushed Sherlock from behind and he almost faceplanted.  
  
Sherlock didn't look up but he could feel people smiling and getting into the groove of things. It was a ritual, this. It unfailingly starts off with a few smiles, subtle snickers, maybe a laugh or two, then it gradually morphs into something more. Like they were trying to be decent people at first but then they forget about it the next minute for no apparent reason. Well, Sherlock knew what the reason was. It was because in him they had a scapegoat. Because if it was him, it couldn't be them.  
  
"Hey, weirdo! Why'd you even wake up? Why didn't you kill yourself last night?" The words were accompanied by a sharp kick to his left shin.  
  
Sherlock winced from the contact, barely acknowledging the taunts and the slowly increasing volume of laughter.  
  
_Please,_ he thought as he started running back to his room _. Just let me die. Let me die right now._  
  
+++++++++++++++  
  
John, all five feet seven of him, was nervous.  
  
"Young man, I would like to reiterate our no-drugs policy here. It is imperative that you not only understand but follow this." The woman speaking to him - a Ms. Hudson, from what he gleaned from his father - was the Headmistress of Brixton Preparatory. "The school is very strict about this matter. If I so much as hear anything, anything at all, about this sort of trouble from you, I will personally escort you out of this institution." Her eyes were grave and her tone severe but John felt like laughing out loud. It was an unfortunate behavior he had adopted from growing up in a stressful environment. He often laughed out of nervousness. This time, though, he succeeded in keeping a straight face.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," he answered gravely.  
  
"Alright, then. As long as we're clear." Ms. Hudson tried to smile at him but it wound up looking like a grimace, no doubt brought about by her anticipation of his wrongdoings in the near future.  
  
John did have a juvy record that would make any school shudder at the thought of welcoming him, but he also had something that swayed most of them. It was his last name and everything else that went with it. _Thank God for small favors,_ he thought. At least that sperm donor he called his father had some sort of use. And honestly, it wasn't even drugs, really. Just weed. A lot of it, to be sure, but he was over all that. Really.  
  
"Anthea, please escort Mr. Watson to the dormitories," Ms. Hudson said.  
  
Her brown-haired secretary stood up and gestured for John to follow her.  
  
"The dorms are across the campus, in front of the soccer field," she said. "It has a great view at the back and all rooms are singles, as you probably already know. This ensures students’ privacy and comfort.”  
  
John made a hmm sound of acknowledgement and started to relax as he walked beside Anthea. It was a beautiful and warm April Monday. Granted, he wasn't in the best, most relaxing situation in his life, but the worst was over. He had finally been admitted. It was touch-and-go there for a while.  
  
_This place is kinda decent,_ he thought. He could imagine playing soccer on the field as it entered his view. Trees were sporadically lined all the way down the paved walkway leading towards the dormitories.  
  
"Does everybody stay in the dorms?" He asked.  
  
"Yes," she replied. "All students are required to stay here Monday to Friday all semester. Everything you need to know is in the handbook and manual in all common rooms."  
  
"Alright," John said. He needed to get ahold of that as soon as possible. Not because he was in any hurry to follow the rules written there, but to be able to devise ways to get around them. He was mulling over this when Anthea lead him towards the building a little to the left of the soccer field.  
  
They entered the open double doors. Immediately inside was a typical hallway with stairs several steps away. The walls were covered with bulletin boards with announcements and the like. A huge common room was to the right.  
  
"This is where I leave you." Anthea said, "Your room is 2-J on the second floor. You can check it out and just return for your things at the admin building later. You need to come back to sign up for classes, anyway. Here's your room key." She handed him the said item.  
  
John nodded, taking it. His feet were already on the move to go upstairs. "Thanks. Do I have to come back at a specific time or anything like that?"  
  
Anthea glanced at her watch and said, "No, not really. It's still pretty early. Just come back before five."  
  
"Okay. Thanks again." John was halfway up the stairs as he said this.  
  
2-A... 2-B... He had to walk all the way to the end of the hall before he found his room.  
  
John was fitting his key into the doorknob when a movement from the corner of his eye drew his gaze like a magnet.  
  
His blue eyes met Sherlock's blue-gray ones and he smiled.

  


 


	2. Hands

Sherlock started running. His legs, so often made fun of by his so-called peers, felt almost invincible as he raced to the dormitories.  
  
Sherlock ran up the stairs two at a time, gradually feeling the weight lift off his chest. Alone. Finally. He knew he couldn’t afford to miss another class but he just didn’t have the energy to pretend he didn’t care today. Because he did. He cared so much that it hurt.   
  
Sighing, the young boy unlocked the door to his room and went in. He dropped his things on the floor and kicked the door closed. The minute he heard the door slam shut behind him, all thoughts of harsh words and cruelty disappeared. He always tried to keep his room free from all the shit he had to put up with every day. This was his own place. His palace.   
  
Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and felt in his right pocket for his phone. Empty. He checked his left pocket.   
  
_Damn it.  
_  
It must’ve fallen while he was running. He was sure he put it in there this morning. Just to be sure, Sherlock grabbed his backpack and upended it, letting his things scatter on the bed.   
  
Annoyed with himself, Sherlock tried to decide whether to look for it now or later. He wasn’t in the mood to run into one of the faculty and be forced to go to class. If he postponed the search, however, there was a good chance that somebody else would find it and-   
  
His eyes widened as he thought about all the things he had on his phone. No, no, no. He would die if anybody found it. True, it was password-protected but what if...  
  
Sherlock was up and walking in a millisecond. He opened the door and walked out into the hall.  
  
+++++++++++++++  
  
John smiled at the skinny boy who was standing awkwardly in front of the room next to his.   
  
“Hi,” John took a couple of steps towards him, extending a hand out. His smile faltered when the boy seemed to shrink back an infinitesimal inch, almost as if he were afraid John was going to hit him. “John,” he added.   
  
The boy gave him a tight smile and mumbled, “Sherlock.”  
  
Their eyes met as Sherlock shook his hand. John blinked. He felt a warmth spread across his chest, short-circuiting his brain and making his mouth dry.   
  
_What the hell was that?_   
  
Keeping his facial expression neutral, John let go of Sherlock’s hand and looked away, feeling disconcerted and more than a little confused.   
  
“I just moved here from Brent,” John said, trying to keep his voice light. He pointed to the door Sherlock just emerged from and asked, “Is that your room?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Cool. We’re neighbors, then,” he said, licking his lips nervously. _Why the hell am I nervous?  
_  
“Yeah. Guess we are.” Sherlock looked down. “Listen, not to be rude or anything but I need to find my phone and-”  
  
“You lost your phone?”  
  
“-I really need to find it so I have to go.”  
  
“Do you need help finding it?” The words were out of John’s mouth before he could stop them. He couldn’t understand it but he didn’t want this encounter to end yet. _It’s because you were raised to be helpful. He needs help so you have to help him._   
  
“No, no.” Sherlock’s reply was a little too quick. “You wouldn’t want to be associated with me, anyway,” he added with a brief glance at John before looking down again.   
  
John inhaled sharply at the pain he saw reflected on those piercing eyes. His heart constricted for this beautiful boy who was so obviously broken. _  
_  
“Nah, it’s all good,” he said. John suddenly realized he didn’t care. He knew, without knowing why he knew, that Sherlock was a good person. Besides, he’d never been the type of person to care what other people thought.   
  
“Okay, sure,” Sherlock said. “Thanks.”  
  
They started walking side by side towards the stairs while John tried to calm his racing pulse. He felt consumed by a need to protect this boy who was so shattered that his brokenness seemed to seep out of every pore.   
  
For the first time in his life, John felt scared.  
  
+++++++++++++++  
  
Sherlock, unsure of what just happened, found himself walking with this stranger who offered to help him. Help him. Him. Sherlock. Someone actually offered to help him. It was such an unfamiliar feeling to be on the receiving end of kindness that he actually felt a little suspicious. His annoying older brother Mycroft, in his efforts to try to help Sherlock, once said, “People are not naturally kind, Sherlock. We are selfish creatures. Think about toddlers, for instance. They are the best example of what human nature is, stripped of all learning and conditioning. Yes, human beings have evolved to become a better version of ourselves, ‘better’ a word I would not choose myself, but our primal urges have always been to think about what we want as opposed to what is good and right. If someone offers to help you, you can be sure that they want something in return.”   
  
They were talking about sharing toys. He was seven.   
  
Sherlock glanced up at his companion. He was a couple of inches shorter than John, a fact he was contemplating while walking in silence with the taller boy.   
  
The silence felt nice. Companionable, really. Sherlock’s thoughts were running along the lines of past friendships (not that he’s had a lot of those) and the possibility of new ones, when John cleared his throat.   
  
“So where should we start looking?” John asked, looking around.   
  
They were on the walkway right outside the door of their building. Sherlock shrugged and said, “It could be anywhere from here to the main academic building.”   
  
“You were that careful, huh?” John teased, smiling at Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock heart skipped a beat and he found himself smiling back. “Yeah, I was in a hurry.”  
  
“Running back to your room? I wonder why?” John’s smile was a little devilish as he started looking around for the phone.   
  
_If you only knew_ , Sherlock thought wryly. And because he couldn’t say, “I was running from the people who were making my life a living hell,” he just huffed and said, “It’s a small black phone.”  
  
“Alright,” John’s voice faded away as he walked farther away.   
  
_Don’t go_ , Sherlock found himself thinking. _Stay here for a little while longer. Until you find out who I am here and I repulse you.  
_  
“I found it!” John’s voice was triumphant as he emerged from behind a tree a few feet away. He help up a phone in one hand that Sherlock saw was indeed his.   
  
Sherlock sighed with relief as he held out a hand for his phone. “Thanks.”  
  
“Not so fast,” John said, grinning cheekily as Sherlock’s phone disappeared in his pocket. “Don’t I get a reward for this?”  
  
Sherlock felt the happy bubble in his chest burst. _As always, Mycroft was right._ “Uh... I have some cash here,” he said flatly.   
  
John’s eyes were full of confusion. “I didn’t mean- Here. “He exhaled and handed Sherlock the phone. “I was just kidding, man.”  
  
“Oh,” Sherlock felt a pang of guilt that he immediately squelched as Mycroft’s voice reverberated in his head. “Thanks for the help.”   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” John replied. His tone was light but his eyes were searching.   
  
Sherlock couldn’t be sure but it seemed like he heard a trace of concern. “So you must be busy. Having just moved in and all so-”  
  
“You trying to get rid of me?” John said, one side of his mouth quirking up in a smile. “I get the hint. I need to unpack anyway. You headed back, too?” He angled his head towards the direction of the rooms.   
  
“Uh, yeah.”  
  
They walked in silence again and when they reached hallway, they simultaneously turned to each other.   
  
“Listen-“  
  
“Sherlock-“  
  
They both stopped and grinned, Sherlock realizing it was the first time John had said his name. He also realized he liked it. A lot.   
  
“Thanks for helping me find my phone,” he said. “You know how we teenagers are. We can’t live without this.” He patted his pocket.   
  
“I don’t really know. I’m technologically-challenged,” John said, then winced. “I mean, I’m not stupid or anything like that but I still believe in actual conversations and like, you know, actual dating. Stuff like that.”  
  
For some reason, Sherlock felt himself blush which he hid by looking down and holding his hand out to shake John’s. “I really have to go. Nice to meet you.”  
  
“You, too, man,” John grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. They both pulled away at the same time and opened their doors.   
  
“Bye, Sherlock.”  
  
“Bye, John.”  
  
Sherlock went in and closed the door. His hands were trembling. He leaned against the doorjamb and looked at his hands, still feeling John’s skin against his.


	3. Dreams

The night Sherlock had was fitful and restless. His erratic bouts of unconsciousness were filled with strong hands and blue eyes and smiles that made his cold heart ache. He awoke with fits and starts, willing himself to forget. Surprisingly, this _has_ happened before. There was a boy. Once. And it did not end well.

As dawn approached and the smell of early morning permeated his cozy room, he finally gave up on sleep and got up. Sherlock grabbed his shower kit and headed towards the common bathroom. Yawning loudly, he thought that getting up to shower early had its perks. Nobody would be around to steal his clothes. Or take pictures while he showered. Or squirt him in the face with shampoo. Or put his things in condoms. Yes, this was definitely a good idea.

Upon entering the bathroom stalls, Sherlock was surprised to hear one of the showers running. He checked his phone that was carefully tucked into a plastic bag. He was never letting the thing go again. 5:30 am. Too early for… well, anybody, really. Morning sports practice didn’t even start until 6:30. 

_Please, please don’t be one of them._ He listed names in his head he didn’t want it to be, taunting faces blurring into one huge confusing collage. There were actually decent people at school. Or to be more accurate, people who just ignored him. _Please let it be one of the ignorers._

Walking quietly towards the stalls, he saw blond hair and strong shoulders. Water was cascading down his back and his head was tipped up while he rubbed his torso. Eyes closed, the boy turned his head and Sherlock saw who it was.

 _Fuck,_ Sherlock thought. He quickly averted his eyes, looking down. Then, because he couldn’t help it, his eyes darted upward to take another look.

John was _glorious_. All muscular shoulders and thighs and strong calves and oh – Sherlock has never felt this way before. He was wrong. There was absolutely nothing similar about his previous experience to this. His eyes ran up and down John. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He was gone. 

After a few more seconds, feeling like a pervert all the while, Sherlock finally tore his gaze away from his new friend. He turned and started fussing with his things, slightly panicking. What should he do? Should he say hi? Let John know he was there? It would be weird if he didn’t, right? Would not saying anything make him seem more-

He was saved from having to decide what to do by a voice that interrupted his anxious musings. “Oh, hey!”

Sherlock swallowed and faced John.

“You up for an early shower, too?” John was smiling at him. He was still showering and this time, he turned towards Sherlock.

Sherlock gulped, trying hard to look at anything else but John. “Umm… yeah. Couldn’t really sleep,” he mumbled. He decided then and there that doing something was the best solution to his discomfort, so he stepped into the shower two stalls away and proceeded to strip. He turned the water on and let it soothe him.

“Hey, you wanna grab breakfast when you’re done?” John said loudly over the sound of the water. “What do you guys do for food around here anyway? The cafeteria seems like a sad place.”

“I don’t really eat much,” Sherlock answered. He needed to get out of here fast. Soap, shampoo, rinse, then escape.

“What? Are you kidding? Is that why you’re so skinny?” John’s voice seemed to moving much closer. “Can we have food delivered here?” Dangerously close now.

Sherlock turned and there he was. He caught a glimpse of John with a towel wrapped around his waist, chest bare and hair wet, looking positively gorgeous. He swiftly faced the other way, feeling self-conscious of… everything. He was too skinny. His legs felt like sticks and his chest… well, there was nothing at all muscular about it, unlike John’s. His mouth felt dry, even with all the water running across his face. “Yeah, that’s not a problem.”

John was still there. Sherlock can feel his presence behind him, giving him goosebumps. He shivered.

John cleared his throat. “Okay. So do you wanna order something? My treat.”

“Uh… sure. Thanks,” Sherlock replied, his face flaming at the thought of John looking at his skinny form. He felt John finally move away, his flip-flops slapping against the tiled floor.

“Should I just order any breakfast food for you? You allergic to anything?”

“No, it’s all good,” Sherlock said, finishing up and turning off the water. He toweled off and wrapped it around his waist, taking a deep breath. _It’s all fine. All good. See? You didn’t die. You may be totally aroused right now but you’re still alive. Excellent work, Sherlock._

He headed for his room, willing his erection away.

+++++++++++++++

John slept soundly, albeit colorfully. He dreamed of dark hair and sad eyes and an intense need to protect. When he found consciousness, it was with a heavy heart. 

He couldn’t stop thinking of Sherlock.

John knew he should be worried. He had never felt this way about a boy before. And he was worried. He just couldn’t be bothered to worry about it right now. Not when he was feeling so giddy and intense and… alive. 

Out of habit (reform schools would do that to you), he got up at five and tossed and turned for a bit. When he was sure he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, he decided to take a shower. 

Hot showers were one of his favorite things in the world. As John let the water wake him up fully, he felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand. He turned to see Sherlock seemingly getting ready for a shower of his own. John felt his insides flutter and enjoyed that rare fleeting feeling without shame. He knew he would eventually have to deal with the confusion, but for now…

“Oh, hey!” He greeted Sherlock, smiling widely. Sherlock turned and their eyes met. John’s heart quickened at the eye contact. “You up for an early shower, too?”

Sherlock looked away, which made John frown a little. “Umm… yeah. Couldn’t really sleep,” Sherlock said quietly. He moved away and went into one of the shower stalls to John’s left. John heard the shower being turned on.

John, thinking hard, decided he couldn’t let Sherlock run away without at least trying to do something. Breakfast, he thought, elated. Everybody eats breakfast. He would invite Sherlock to eat breakfast with him. 

“Hey, you wanna grab breakfast when you’re done?” John made sure his voice carried over the splashing of the water. “What do you guys do for food around here anyway? The cafeteria seems like a sad place.”

_Say yes. Say yes. Say yes._

“I don’t really eat much,” was the reply.

John frowned again. He was bothered by how much he was bothered that Sherlock seemed to not want to take care of himself. Maybe he should get him to eat. He was way too skinny. Not that John minded. He turned off the shower and dried himself off. Wrapping his towel around his waist, he started walking towards Sherlock’s stall.

“What? Are you kidding? Is that why you’re so skinny?” John tried to keep his tone light. “Can we have food delivered here?” He took the last step towards Sherlock’s stall and his mind went utterly blank. His eyes landed on Sherlock’s back and the curve of his ass. John swallowed hard.

Sherlock turned and glanced at him, then turned away again, unfazed and nonchalant. “Yeah, that’s not a problem.”

John blinked and blinked. He clutched his shower kit for dear life and felt his knuckles ache with the pressure. He couldn’t speak.

John cleared his throat and finally, with all the effort he could muster, said, “Okay. So do you wanna order something? My treat.” It was all he could do to make up for being a Peeping Tom.

“Uh… sure. Thanks,” said Sherlock.

John finally walked away, his legs feeling like lead as he tried not to look back. _Look straight ahead. Straight ahead. I’m straight. I’m straight. Am I straight?_

“Should I just order any breakfast food for you? You allergic to anything?” John called out, willing his voice not to shake.

“No, it’s all good,” Sherlock answered.

John heard the water stop running and fought the urge to go back and make Sherlock an offer he can’t refuse. He made his legs move forward until he was in the safety of his room and sagged against the door.

Intense. Too intense. He didn’t know whether he was going to survive this.


	4. Smiles and Frowns

As the sounds of early-morning banter in the hallway progressed from low humming to full-on cacophony, John contemplated his emotions inside closed doors. He needed to breathe.

_Inhale. Exhale._

He considered making an excuse to get out of his offer to eat breakfast together with Sherlock but… He didn’t want to. Honestly, what he wanted was to see Sherlock again. Maybe make him laugh a bit or get a glimpse of that beautiful neck while it arched-

_Fuck. I am so fucked._

_Wait. Am I fucked or do I want to be fu-_

John shook his head from his deemed insane thoughts and checked for nearby breakfast places that delivered and placed an order for fried chicken and waffles, then decided to just get the same for Sherlock. Drumming his fingers on his desk, he looked around his room and made an attempt to clean up. He had already unpacked most of his things so it was relatively neat. His battered-up laptop sat on his desk by the door and across from it, his bed with freshly laundered sheets. His tiny closet was slightly open so he crossed the room to close it. Using his feet, he pushed some of his shoes towards the front of the closet to make it seem less cluttered.

Looking around, John suddenly realized he had nothing else to do and a wave of nervousness washed over him. What should he do next? Should he knock on Sherlock’s door to invite him here? Was Sherlock done getting ready and waiting for him next-door? He had never felt such uncertainty in his life. Even with girls he instinctively knew what to do and damn the rejection.

Two raps at the door and he was on his feet, startled and skittish like a newborn colt. John licked his lips and crossed the door to open it.

+++++++++++++++

Sherlock turned off the water when he heard John walking away. He was shivering and it wasn’t because of the water, which was warm and comforting. His mind was racing. What was he doing? He was obviously attracted to John and John was obviously going to find out who he was and Sherlock was obviously going to get his heart broken. Again. Better to just nip this in the bud and retreat into himself like he always does. 

_You don’t have friends,_ his mind bitterly spat out.

_But…_

_What if you I can have one?_

Sherlock quickly gathered up his things before other people woke up and started getting ready for the day. He went into his room and mechanically started putting on sweatpants and a t-shirt. As he tried wrestling his dark hair into something halfway decent (dear God, he was beginning to care about how he looks!), he caught a glance of his eyes in the mirror hanging behind his door. He felt a jolt of surprise. He looked… happy. The expression was so unfamiliar that he felt like he was staring at a stranger. 

Lifting his chin up defiantly, Sherlock decided to take the plunge. Glancing at his reflection one last time, he opened the door to the hallway.

+++++++++++++++

A group of guys stood on the threshold like a pack of wolves, grinning at John.

“We heard John Watson was here and we’ve come to pay our respects!”

John’s gaze landed on the tallest guy in front and recognition dawned. “Stamford! How are you, man? I didn’t know you went to this school!” He gave Mike Stamford a quick slap-handshake that turned into a hug.

“Just started last semester when that school chewed me up and spit me out!” Mike’s guffaw was just how John remembered it. “This place isn’t bad. I’ve been trying to clean up my act, though.”

“You? Are you kidding me?”

“No, really. I have to get into med school or my dad’s gonna cut me off,” Mike said. “And honestly, man, I’m kinda tired of the whole thing. Like, nothing’s new, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Which John kind of did.

“Oh, fucking rude of me,” Mike started gesturing to the guys behind him. “That’s Greg Lestrade, that ugly one’s Dimmock, and that gonad over there’s Anderson.”

After words of greeting were said by all, Greg said to John, “You wanna grab breakfast with us? We’re going off-campus to this place with this really hot waitress that Anderson’s been dying to-“

Anderson punched Greg on the arm hard and said, “Yeah, as if you’re not trying to get into her pants!”

“So you in?” Mike said.

“Uh…” John absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck. “I kinda already have plans, but rain check?”

“You already got a breakfast date with some hot chick?” Mike laughed. “Alright. Just wanted to welcome you to the school. See you soon, man!” 

They left as quickly as they came, loud and larger than life, walking down the hall and disappearing down the stairs. 

John’s phone pinged. The food was here. He went quickly down the stairs, paid, and ran back up. John exhaled and turned to glance at Sherlock’s door. Still closed. He walked towards it and knocked.

+++++++++++++++

When Sherlock opened his door and surreptitiously peered down the hall in the general direction of John’s room, what he saw made his heart leap out of his throat and shut the door. He took a step back and heaved a huge shuddering sigh. He didn’t really see who those people were that were crowded around John’s door, but they were large and musclely and generally what he considered to be _not good._

He sat on his bed and contemplated his next step. Should he just go to the cafeteria for breakfast? He was pretty hungry but then again… More _not good_ things were probably waiting for him outside which made his hunger disappear.

Sherlock was good at tamping down his desire to eat. And when he got hungry, he often snacked on chocolate cookies he sometimes hoarded in his room just to tide him over. Mycroft had been the one who got him hooked on those, the fat bastard.

A knock on the door startled him and he leapt from the bed and ran a hand through his curls. He opened the door, sullen expression at the ready.

“Hey, man! Food’s here,” John voice was warm and friendly as he held up the delivery bag. It smelled divine and Sherlock’s stomach gave a loud growl. John’s eyes quirked up as he laughed. “And apparently just in time.”

Sherlock felt his fake frown begin to turn upside down at the energy John was exuding. He was just so much like a puppy it was hard not to be happy around him “Yeah, I’m starving,” he admitted.

“So… Do you want to eat here or…?” John trailed off as he looked past into Sherlock’s bedroom.

Sherlock cleared his throat as he grabbed the door handle to close the door behind him. “My room’s a mess. Yours is fine.” He wasn’t quite ready to let John in his room. Or anybody, for that matter. 

“Okay.”

They smiled at each other as they walked towards John’s room. It took all of five steps. John opened the door and they both went in, still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to write an only-John-and-Sherlock fic (you know, the one where they're the only two characters apart from secondary characters that are just there for context) but this got away from me. I feel like friends are an essential part of the school milieu so enter Lestrade, Anderson, Stamford, and Dimmock!


End file.
